We reserved an Airbnb for a week in May, based on it being listed as “secluded” and a “cabin in the woods.” Today I read the detailed stuff they eventually later send.
We’d wanted something without other people and noise around, both for peace and quiet and the sanity of the two dogs.
Turns out this “cabin in the woods” has another unit over top it, and another on the other side of a wall. Eli only barks if there’s something to bark about, but if there’s a group upstairs enjoying a football game or an excited gathering on the other side of a wall, he’s going to bark.
I messaged the host to ask what he thought about the situation. He said the other spaces weren’t booked, but they might be, so barking and noise could be a problem. He also told me the reason they’ll probably be booked is because they’re hosting an artists retreat that week. Oh, and you’re not allowed to use the fireplace. (Weird, as it’s featured in the photos.) As you can see, this had rapidly turned into exactly the situation I did not want.
So, I said I’m very sorry for the trouble, I canceled, and I got a full refund. I immediately booked a charming cottage-cabin on the other side of the Hudson, on forested land in the Catskills with no one else around, a big claw foot tub, a fireplace, and a private gazebo with a grill. Perfect!
Then the original host’s wife then messages me, and asks if she could transfer us to one of their more secluded cabins up in the woods without neighbors, and if we liked, we could walk down to the artists retreat anytime we liked.
Welp. It was a little too late for that. I can almost hear her saying to her husband, “You just turned away a week’s booking in the bigger space and let a composer and a writer go during a week when we’re having an artist’s retreat.” I’m going to assume she’s the brains when it comes to the business.
Still. I love the new place we found in the Catskills. And it’s owned by theatre folk. Photos below!
I’m working on an adaptation of ahistoric theatre piece. I’m turning it into an easy-to-produce, very small musical. For me and old friends (ideally).
I’d like it to be the last thing I have a hand in fully co-directing/musical directing.
It’s from the early 1700s. I’m enjoying moulding it into a piece that’s easily put on a stage, while providing a fun theater history lesson and an evening that’s enjoyable for modern audiences.
If I wanted to blow it out of proportion, I’d say that I’m “shopping it around.” LOL But really, I’m just talking to a college friend in another state who has a teen/college summer program. (Not for like, now. For next summer.) We could get it up on its feet in two weeks, easy.
We’ll see. Most days I’m super into it. Other days, I’m like, “Why are you wasting your time on this?”
But. It’s fun, and my home workspace is cozy.
Script adapting, crafting new lyrics, or writing orchestrations; I work in the same spot … our gigantic king+ bed with tons of pillows, cozy linen, and a big fluffy dog.
I use a souped-up 12″ iPad Pro and a music notation/sequencing program hooked up to thousands of samples by the London Symphony Orchestra. I just got stereo/surround speakers, so I can hear the playback with instruments in their proper spots. =)
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That said, the seating usually gets fiddled with in small musical theatre because of pit and wing limitations, and you end up elbow-to-elbow with a loud horn or the pointy end of a violin bow in your face in some bizarre spot backstage.
Here’s the clever techie part — the piano (or more) can be silenced and played live. With the digital instruments; we end up with just a few players sounding like 14 or 16 musicians. (Touring companies of Broadway shows almost always use this system.) A very modest production is able to have a big, functional orchestra with very little prep, expense, and stress. Whatever parts are being used live, I simply print out.
If I choose, the program is even fully conductible!! (I’m not kidding, it can follow me.)
I thought a screen vid of (part of) the teeny-tiny overture would be fun. I love writing orchestrations. You’ll hear plenty my quirks and my personality in there, and you can follow along and see what I wrote for each instrument.
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(If you’re a musician I know with a name that begins with K, I’ll bet you spot the two measure nod to my beloved Bernstein.)
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We’ll see. I’ve way yet to finish. I get tired. I’m fully functional and all, but I don’t know how many more plays I have left in me. So I do hope it goes somewhere.
The best thing about growing older, I think, is that you’re able to pretty much choose what (or who) is positive and helpful to you. You realize that you can amplify/multiply what’s positive, and you ideally have no time for what’s negative. Also, I find you gain a superpower — invisibility. This is especially helpful if you’re an introvert like me.
Invisibility is easily achieved. Two points —
1. In the mood to be left alone, I have purposely gone to the store wearing pajamas and slippers, with my hair uncombed under a hat, bringing my walking stick even though I might not really need it just then. I proceed to move at a very slow, leisurely pace; which I prefer anyway. Works like a charm. No one sees me. Invisible!
2. If you choose to look presentable and noticed on a particular day, you’re able to make an odd choice, and it’s celebrated rather than fussed at. I like that, and have taken full advantage. You probably know that I have blue and purple crazy hair, and without exaggeration, I dress like a wizard. (I have my choice of several drapey cloak jackets, extra long scarves, and harem pants.) I’m comfortable, and it’s fun.
Cannabis is legal here in New York, and we have a store downtown. Know who I see going in there? Young people? Nope. Not at all. Middle-aged+ people who look like they could be your grandparents.
What of the aches and pains, middle-aged health issues, and even surgeries? It’s going to happen to all of us, and has already happened to many people you know who have simply not mentioned it.
You learn to manage it. I think of it as the price of knowing what I know, being respected, and having a certain freedom to do as I wish.
Sure, there will be a few people that don’t like this or that, and they will fall by the wayside. That’s on them. I find that miserable people often want everyone else to be miserable too. To those people I say, “I wish you well, no hard feelings, and don’t let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out.”
Speaking of doors, I’ve amended the old saying — When a door is slammed in your face, make sure you’ve brought a hammer … so you can nail that shit shut.
Surgeries, repeated tumors, ongoing major side effects, medications, constant doctors. But I’m here — teaching, playing, busy. It takes a lot of support. From my husband and my team of doctors of course, but also from a young chap named Eli. I often call him my Familiar.
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Yep. He’s big.
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He’s always with me. If I’m upstairs, so is he. If I’m downstairs, so is he. When I was in my sick bed, so was he. If I lie down to take a nap, so does he. (Nearly on top of me, of course.) If I’m having a particularly bad day, he can tell, and stays even closer. I tear-up even just talking about it. I’m told that when they accidentally poisoned me and made me a crazy person in the hospital, I was calling for him.
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Pensive puppy.
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We are very much alike, this five-year-old and I. But of course, I raised him. He’s very intelligent, and probably just learned it from me —
He doesn’t like unannounced intruders. He dislikes people (or squirrels, or birds) fidgeting around our property. He does not like noise. He is hyper-emotional and easily upset, but he is also easily made wildly happy by small kindnesses. There are times when he absolutely just wants to sit there and be left alone. Also, we both hate wearing hats.
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Does not like the hat. But he put up with it for a minute so I could take a picture.
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The amount of sentences, tones, and words he understands amazes me. But then, that’s the mysterious intelligent-dog thing.
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Regal puppy.
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His birthday is Thanksgiving, which I think is poetic. It also helps me remember how old he is, because we’re not very good with that sort of thing in our house. We always have to count dog birthdays and human anniversaries. I’m constantly having to try to remember how old I am.
When Eli had just come home, I had to go to a choir practice the next evening. There was a church member that was a thorn in my side … actually a thorn in everyone’s side. The guy was shocked that I would bring a puppy (however silent) to choir practice. Everyone else, of course, was charmed. My thought was, “I’m the staff member, the leader, and it’s my choir practice. I’ll bring an ostrich if I want to.”
But, the guy was visibly irritated. So, Eli walked over and peed on his choir folder. Good boy. The rest of the choir and I laughed ourselves silly. Ginny, a beloved older singer who had been in the choir for forty years laughed the loudest.
So, we’ll end with a puppy picture from that week. He was 11 weeks old, and that’s a 3 foot wide bed!
Today is Dishpan Day — All the photos that were sitting left over from yesterday and before! I’ll caption each so we know what we’re looking at.
It Evens Out
Getting to and settled in the airport hotel was a bit of a chore, but then, that’s why I loathe Heathrow. Some people were great, a few were awful. I used my Gett app to call a black taxi, and it had arrived in the time it took me to grab my suitcase and walk out the front door. My Cabbie was awesome, and we had a great conversation about the US and UK on the way to my train at Paddington. Heathrow Express took me to the airport in 15 minutes, where driving would’ve taken over an hour.
It’s a perfectly nice airport, but it’s gigantic. It reminds me of Boston Logan, except more sprawling and way far from the actual city you’re visiting. I might have to switch airlines to Nordic, who fly into Gatwick. I wonder if they have a rewards card. Or I’ll just start going to the tropics, since JetBlue flies to multiple destinations from Westchester Airport.
I left the first hotel at 11, got to Paddington about 12, grabbed a sandwich, got to Heathrow about 1 o’clock, and the airport hotel about 230. The disability helper dudes at Heathrow were absolutely wonderful. Still took forever, but they were so helpful!
There was a couple with six kids and lots of gigantic luggage on the shuttle bus. Seriously — the amount of luggage was truly shocking.
They were sitting in all of the labeled and marked disabled seats (with open seats up the two steps behind them), and had all their baggage stacked in a monumental teetering tower in the other flip-down wheelchair/disabled row. Did they move or offer? Of course they didn’t. They watched me stand with a cane and a rolling suitcase, falling twice (sideways) against the luggage rack while the bus humped and bumped and tilted speedily coursed around the airport ramps.
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Their luggage was stacked in the area directly in front of my foot.
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I could’ve enforced it, but it was a short trip and I couldn’t be bothered. By the time I got the driver involved and they’d moved, it would’ve been almost over anyway. You wanna be the asshole? Fine with me. A girl behind them apologized to me on their behalf after they got off.
All this aside, a nice surprise was waiting at the end of the journey! I don’t know whether it’s because I’m a member of their hotel club or whether I’m nice and I have a stick. Whichever, I was upgraded to an executive room, which is very comfortable. Very nice hotel too — excellent room service, restaurant, Starbucks, and pizza place inside the lobby, very friendly staff, everyone super helpful. I’m impressed.
I got here later than I would have liked, but check in being 2 PM, I would’ve paid more to arrive earlier anyway. It will be a nice spa day very much including room service and that amazing looking shower.
It is so nice to know I will have a comfortable night and then get on a shuttle that will drop me at my airport terminal in 10 minutes time. 
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IHG Rewards? A good attitude, plus the cane?
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Here come the random photos!
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Shakespeare’s Globe, in its current position.
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The Globe interior, via AboutBritain.com
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My 14GG John Collett curiously bought the land that The Globe was put on top of at exactly the time Burbage and Shakespeare lost their lease in Smithfield and were looking to move. Plus, the families knew each other.
Why on earth would prosperous wool merchant John (who had probably never even been to London) suddenly buy London land perfect for a theater? It would be like a successful Kansas farmer who’d never left his hometown suddenly buying a lot in 1870s New York City to build a telegraph office. It’s weird.
Anyhow, they took down the old Playhouse, salvaged the expensive beams and anything else of value, and barged it all over to the new site. (They did not do it overnight, despite the legend. That’s silly. It took a few months.)
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Big Ben Trapped! (Actually, big Ben is the name of the bell. Not the tower.)Noted.I like this Westminster Griffon.ParliamentLow tide on The Thames. Little bitty antiques wash up all the time.I’d be dead within a quarter mile.Atmospheric wall.They moved this to Borough Market from Covent Garden market.Construction nervously near the remains of the bishops’ palace.As it says.Georgian-looking alley. Upon closer inspection, the Victorian’s faked it. Thanks, Victorians.The footbridge, the wheel, the sky.I actually did this, and lifted the barrel!Many many bikes.HMS Belfast and her neighbor, Tower Bridge.More railroad arches. That’s my café first shop on the left.Full view of Henry the pipe organ.A burial fad from the ages – reminding us that we will be eaten by bugs. This was very popular with clergy and especially bishops.The main organ façade at Southwark Cathedral. (There’s more than one.)Said Cathedral in the sun.
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From the airport, Good night to you too! Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow for a few final thoughts about the trip in general.
Sit Still Phill 